


Never Been This Close Before

by theworldunseen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abortion, Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Graduate School, Light Angst, Light Drinking, not the best birth control practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldunseen/pseuds/theworldunseen
Summary: Jaime is leaving. Not permanently — just for a semester. If he hadn't been leaving, Brienne never would have had sex with him, and if she never had sex with him, she wouldn't be staring at two positive pregnancy tests.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 97
Kudos: 192





	Never Been This Close Before

**Author's Note:**

> This fic grew out of my frustration at the fic accidental pregnancy fic trope. I have loved many fics with it, for sure, but I'm also always like "why wouldn't she at least THINK about having an abortion?" So here we are. I did a lot of googling about abortion while writing this, and accept all blame for inaccurate info. 
> 
> Enormous shout out to flythroughflames, as always, for her loving support of this fic and of me! Also to the sprinters on Discord, who helped nudge me into finishing this.
> 
> Title from Bob Dylan's "You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go," specifically the Miley Cyrus cover. Felt very right for JB in general, and Brienne in this fic.

It happened because Jaime was leaving. No, Brienne thought. That wasn’t exactly true. She had kind of seen it coming all summer. She couldn’t look right at them — it had still felt a little unbelievable, a little too much like wishful thinking — but Jaime’s affections had eventually gotten past even the barriers put up by her shitty self esteem. 

It was just his leaving that had sparked them both finally admitting it.

Of course she’d hated Jaime at first. Of course. They couldn’t agree on anything. The other grad students they were friends with knew to stay far away from them when they got on to a touchy subject.

It had started the very first time they met, during a mixer for new doctoral candidates. Brienne had said that her research focus was the history of women in sport, and Jaime had laughed at her, thinking she was joking. “Surely they’re not funding a thesis on that?” She’d been furious. 

The next time they saw each other, she’d found out that he was getting his doctorate in political theory, and she’d laughed at  _ him _ for three minutes. When he started referring to her only as “woman,” had truly cemented their hatred of each other.

Normally, two people getting their phDs in separate fields wouldn’t necessarily see each other that often. But fate had something else in mind for Jaime and Brienne.

The history and government departments were on the same floor of the Aemon Targaryen International Building, or, as every student, staff and faculty member called it, ATIB. And usually Brienne could stay safe and secure inside the offices and hallways that made up the history department proper, but she liked to meet her undergrad students on the couches by the elevators. It turned out Jaime liked to meet his students there, too, and both of them refused to cede the space to the other when their office hours clashed. Years later, Brienne learned that there had been much discussion of her and Jaime’s public spats on those couches by their students on Ravengram. 

If it hadn’t been for Margaery Tyrell, they’d probably have just hated each other forever. Margaery was getting her phD in Westeros Studies, which Brienne privately thought was kind of bullshit. Study Westeros history or Westeros government or Westeros literature or Westeros film. To study all of that and more seemed like deciding to be a master of none. But because of her broad study area Margaery frequently saw not only Brienne but also Jaime, and she tried very hard to convince Brienne that he wasn’t really that bad once you got to know him.

Brienne didn’t really believe her until Margaery’s birthday came around in June of their first year. Seemingly every person who Margaery knew who’d stayed in Winterfell for the summer was invited to the townhouse she shared with her girlfriend Sansa for a huge birthday barbecue. They’d covered the backyard in fairy lights and streamers and thrown all sorts of meat — both real and fake — onto the barbecue.

Brienne had been annoyed, at first, that Jaime was there too. And of course summer, when she spent three months sweating, only made him look more ridiculously handsome than normal. He wore a hunter green button down with the sleeves rolled up and enough buttons undone to hint at the splendor hiding underneath. Paired with khaki shorts, the outfit made him seem cool and casual and fun. What a jerk. 

Brienne had felt cute, putting on her new blue sundress for the occasion, but surrounded by adorable English masters students and absurdly good looking men like Margaery’s brother and Jaime, she felt a little foolish. Still, she tried her best to mingle and push her insecurities to the side.

She stayed away from Jaime most of the day, which was impressive in the rather small backyard. But as the long afternoon faded into night, and all the sparkling lights came on, and Brienne began to wonder just how many hard seltzers she’d actually had, Jaime sidled up next to her. 

“Are you having fun, woman?” he asked. Whenever he came near, she always put up her defenses, but she couldn’t tell just what his angle was today.

“I am,” she said, brushing off the nickname for once. He smiled at her brightly, then asked for her opinions about the upcoming Olympics. A huge part of her research was about how the modern Olympics had fueled the spread of women’s sports throughout Westeros and the world; she didn’t think he’d ever paid attention when it came up in other conversations. But that night it became clear that he had been, and their talk was much more pleasant than she’d ever expected. When she finally looked at the time on her phone again, it was more than an hour later than she thought.

“I have to go home,” she said, standing suddenly and stumbling a little. Jaime caught her.

“Let me walk you,” he said. She would never really be sure why she said yes.

“I’m not drunk,” she insisted as they walked through the quiet, early summer streets. She wished she’d brought a sweatshirt with her to wear now that night had fallen and the breeze had turned into wind. She crossed her arms. 

“I know,” Jaime said. “But I couldn’t let a lady walk home in these dangerous parts.” She’d remember that forever.

Brienne had snorted. She was no lady. 

But soon after when they were crossing the street, just a few blocks from Brienne’s apartment, a car had come out of nowhere, and Jaime had pushed Brienne out of the way. She screamed. The driver stopped too late. Jaime was mostly fine. But his hand…

Much later, Sansa would say that’s when Brienne had started to fall in love with Jaime — when he’d thrown himself in front of danger for her. Or maybe, at the latest, when she’d helped him during his recovery, making him shower and get dressed and go to occupational therapy. And sure, in retrospect Brienne had fallen for him more deeply then. But only Brienne remembered that party and how beautiful Jaime had looked under the fairy lights, the full force of his attention turned to her. How funny and sweet he’d been on the walk home. How, even then, Brienne was wondering if he’d try to kiss her when they reached her door. How she knew she wouldn’t stop him if he did.

—

This year, Jaime was spending the fall semester in King’s Landing to work on his research. He’d be interviewing some people in government as well as making extensive use of the library in Maegor’s Holdfast. He spent the whole summer planning the three and a half month time he’d be there, so he wouldn’t waste any of it, and he pestered Brienne with questions whenever they worked together in the library, or in her office, or in her apartment. 

(“You have your own office, Jaime,” she would tell him. “But my advisor can find me there, woman,” he’d answer. She didn’t really want him to leave her alone.)

As July turned into August and the date of his departure drew nearer, Brienne felt increasing dread. He was her best friend. She would miss him so much. 

(And in the middle of the night, when it was safe, she worried that she’d missed her chance and Jaime would fall in love with someone else while she was out of sight and out of mind.)

“You should tell him before he goes,” Margaery had told her, the one time she let herself voice all her fears aloud. But Brienne had shaken her off.

“I don’t want to start something just so it can exist in some...lesser version for four months. I can wait until he’s back.” She  _ could. _ She would.

His going away party was at their favorite bar, which was kind of a shithole, but was cheap and never crowded, making it perfect for all sorts of gatherings. Brienne got there early to make sure they got their favorite booth. That’s what she told everyone when they arrived, at least; in reality, she’d been so nervous and sad and anxious she couldn’t stay in her apartment a moment longer than she needed to. She wore black jeans and a royal blue tank top and tried to pretend that she hadn’t picked it because Jaime always said he liked her in blue.

Eventually, all their friends had gathered, and they smooshed together in the booth as they lightly roasted Jaime. He was sitting next to her, his thigh against hers, and she tried to act normal and not like she was going to cry at any moment. She knew Jaime wasn’t going away forever. Why was she so sad?

Everyone drank a little too much. They spent too much money in the jukebox, picking all their favorite songs and being obnoxious jerks when they sang and danced along. Jaime got up at one point to put on “I Want It That Way,” which was sort of unofficially  _ their song _ after one very late night of grading that went awry. Brienne whooped in delight and joined Jaime to jump up and down and sing and she wanted this night to never end. Then Jaime would never leave, and they could always stay this way, best friends who were almost something more.

Despite her wishes, their friends slowly trickled out, leaving their good wishes for Jaime's semester. The way some of them carried on, Brienne thought, you’d think Jaime was leaving for a year, or two, not three and a half months. 

But she didn’t really blame them. She was going to miss him so much, she felt like she could choke on it. Brienne had just chosen to keep her feelings to herself.

At the end of the night, Jaime held the door open for her. At this point in their friendship, she knew he wouldn’t even ask if he wanted her to walk her home: He was going to do it anyway. She’d given up on arguing a long time ago.

The late summer air was already cold, and Brienne kicked herself for not bringing a jacket. She crossed her arm.

“Take it, woman,” Jaime said. She turned to him as he handed his sweatshirt to her. Gratefully, Brienne pulled it on. It smelled like him, though she would never be able to identify just what the smells were. It mostly made her feel safe and loved. What was she going to do without this feeling in her life?

“What’s the matter?” Jaime asked her, looking right into her eyes. Sometimes it was  _ annoying _ to have someone who understood everything about you. Almost everything.

“Nothing,” she said, turning away and walking quickly down the block.

“Brienne,” he said, chasing after her. He reached out and took her hand. She let him. They walked hand in hand back to her apartment, neither of them commenting on the change. 

They stopped outside the building, standing in the golden light of the street lamp. The whole city seemed asleep, except the two of them. It made it easier; this moment felt stolen and surreal, like they’d fallen out of time for an hour or two.

“Brienne,” Jaime said again.

“I wish you weren’t going,” she admitted, finally. “I know it’ll be so good for you and your research —”

“Brienne —”

“But I’ll miss you so much,” she continued, her eyes tearing. “What if you go to King’s Landing and have some amazing life and  _ forgetallaboutme?” _

She thought Jaime might laugh at her theatrics, but he looked deadly serious. 

“Forget about you? You silly woman.” He was still holding her hand, she realized. He stepped closer to her. “Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” she asked with a hiccup. She wiped her face with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. 

“Brienne,” he said again, as if that was an answer. His face was so close and he was whispering. “Tell me if I’m misreading things, but I’m gonna kiss you now, OK?” 

She kissed him first.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, until their chests were touching. She snaked her own arms around his neck and she realized her left foot was popping up. (She’d think about it fondly months later when she clicked on  _ The Princess Diaries _ on Netflix. It was a testament to how perfect the kiss felt.)

“Do you want to come up?” she whispered as soon as the thought occurred to her, before she could convince herself not to say it aloud.  _ Jaime was leaving. _ She couldn’t let this moment pass them by. They couldn’t.

“Brienne Tarth, are you trying to take me to bed?” he asked, pretending to be scandalized. She bit his lip, just a little and he gasped. 

“Yes, if you’ll be quiet.”

Jaime nodded and she led him by the hand into the building and up the stairs. She’d thought he’d try to distract her as she unlocked the door, but he calmly stood next to the door as she fumbled for her keys and, eventually, opened it. But when they locked eyes again, he was smouldering. How had it taken so long for them to do this?

Once they were inside her apartment, he silently took his sweatshirt off of her and hung it carefully on the hook next to her door. Then he reached for her and she fell into him, kissing every bit of him she could get her lips on. 

“I like you so much, you know that, right?” Jaime said in between his own kisses, on her neck and her jaw and her ear. She nodded. She’d thought she knew before, but in this moment it was finally indisputable.

She enjoyed unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off of him, and throwing it into the corner of her tiny apartment. They laughed when she unbuttoned his jeans but he’d forgotten to kick off his shoes and they got stuck on his feet. It took a few moments to get him untangled, but once he succeeded, he returned his attention to kissing the breath out of Brienne.

It was all, Brienne would think later, perfect. The whole night felt like the type of rom com moment she never thought anyone experienced in real life, let alone awkward, clumsy, broken-nosed Brienne Tarth. But they made each other giggle and they made each other moan, and both things felt exactly right. She’d only regret that they hadn’t done it sooner, but maybe neither of them had been capable of bridging the divide until that night, when everything had felt magical and fleeting in equal measure.

After Jaime had come once and Brienne had come three times, they’d collapsed in her bed, sweaty and tired and perfectly content. Jaime kept searching for all the places she was ticklish, much to her chagrin. They laughed and chatted, happy and smitten. Neither of them mentioned the deadline over their heads, or the issue of what exactly they wanted to be to each other now. In the morning, Jaime would be gone.

They slept and woke just a few hours later, coming together again in a sleepy haze. “Why did we wait so long to do this?” Brienne asked as they lied awake, their bodies wrapped together. Jaime was so warm and soft. 

“Woman, I’ve been flirting with you for years, so I blame you for being clueless,” he said. She punched him lightly in the shoulder. He kissed her, and it felt like they did this every day.

Tomorrow it would feel like a dream.

—

Everything was perfect until Jaime’s phone went off with a loud, screeching alarm.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he yelled, flying out of bed. Out of Brienne’s bed. By the time she was sitting up and had her glasses on, Jaime was wearing his jeans again and he was searching for that errant shirt. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said as he pushed his arms through the sleeves. “My flight is in three hours, I’ve gotta get going.” He slipped his sneakers back on, not bothering to tie them again. 

Brienne nodded at him as he searched her face. She didn’t know what to say.  _ I love you _ felt like too much for right now, for a moment that was ending before it had even really started. He was going away. She didn’t want to burden him.

“Text me from the airport?” she tried. That seemed right; Jaime smiled. He walked around the bed and kissed her forehead. They stayed like that for a moment — Brienne naked in bed, Jaime fully clothed, not touching her except for his lips on her skin. 

And then he bolted. When she heard the door slam, she noticed his sweatshirt still lying on her couch. 

—

After she’d showered and eaten breakfast, she ventured out into the world to run errands. Jaime  _ had _ texted her from the airport, a simple, “Made it just in time. I’ll call you when I’m safely in KL.” He’d thrown in a heart emoji, but that was the sort of thing he’d always done. Right?

She grabbed an iced coffee with pumpkin syrup, then stopped by the bookstore to pick up the new Maege Mormont memoir she’d pre-ordered. In it, Maege detailed what it was like being one of the first women to compete in the Olympics for Westeros. Brienne was hoping to interview her herself for her doctoral thesis, but reading this would be a help on its own. And hopefully enjoyable.

Then she swung by the pharmacy to pick up toothpaste and plan b. She and Jaime had used the condoms in her bedside drawer, but she also knew they hadn’t been purchased recently. The plan b was more expensive than she would have guessed. She ought to have texted Jaime to ask him to venmo for half of it — he’d probably have sent the whole thing — but something stopped her.

When she got home, her scissors weren’t sharp enough to cut through the package’s hard plastic; she had to use a knife. She swallowed the little pill down with the remnants of her iced coffee, then sat at her desk to get some work done. 

A few hours later, Jaime FaceTimed her from his apartment, and she smiled and laughed while he gave the grand tour of the small space, trying to fight back the sadness that had lodged itself into his chest. 

“You’ll be OK without me, right?” Jaime asked when he was done and lounging on his bed. He’d been in  _ her _ bed less than twelve hours ago. Why was everything so unfair?

“OK? I’m going to thrive without you to distract me,” she said, and they both laughed. 

Neither of them mentioned the night before. Brienne tried not to hold it against him; she hadn’t brought it up either, of course. And she’d made the very mature decision to wait until December to  _ really _ figure it out. Obviously, he had come to the same decision, too. The adult thing to do was to  _ not _ discuss it, really.

It took her a long time to fall asleep.

—

Time seemed to speed up after that. Brienne had worried how she would fill her days without Jaime’s presence in all the smallest moments, but the answer was apparently with work. If Jaime was going to get really serious about his research in King’s Landing, then she was going to do the same thing here. Plus she had work for the class she was TA-ing, and was often meeting with students to discuss their topics for their final papers, since they were supposed to start outlining them in October and couldn’t begin until she’d approved them.

All the work didn’t mean that she stopped missing Jaime. It was quite the opposite. Sitting in her study carrel at the library was a million times worse without Jaime stopping by with caffeine and snacks. Meeting her students was much less fun without Jaime on the opposite couch, rolling his eyes at the silly things the freshmen and sophomores said. Waiting for the bus outside the front gates of campus was much more boring with Jaime talking in her ear the whole time. 

They had their phones, obviously; Jaime was a famously prolific texter, and she tried her best to reply to him whenever she had the chance. But somehow their schedules never synced up. He would text her while she was in class, and by the time she was done, he was in a meeting. Or she’d text him while he was asleep, and by the time he woken up she’d be on her morning run. He suggested more than once that they schedule a moment to FaceTime each other, but finding a time that worked for both of them had proved impossible so far. The only thing she had to cling to was the sweatshirt he’d left, which she wore around her drafty apartment all month long, glad no one could see her like this.

The deeper into her memory their one night together sank, the harder it was to remember the details. Jaime hadn’t said he loved her, but he’d said something kind of like that, right? Or had he said something less enthusiastic, and she’d heard what she wanted to hear? He’d been the one who wanted to kiss her, but what if he regretted it all now? What if he was just feeling sentimental on his last night in town and it had gone too far? What if he wanted to take it all back, but couldn’t find the words?

“Well you look miserable.” Margaery. Brienne looked up from her laptop, where she was supposed to be answering emails. 

“I’m fine,” Brienne said. Margaery sat on the couch next to her. She was drinking some hot beverage that smelled absolutely disgusting.

“What  _ is _ that?” Brienne asked. Margaery made a face. 

“Just a pumpkin spice latte,” she answered defensively, before taking a sip. 

“It doesn’t smell terrible to you?” Brienne asked. Margaery shrugged, but placed it on the far side of the couch, where it was too far for Brienne to smell it. 

“So what’s the matter? Missing your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Brienne ground out. She tried to return to her emails, but she could feel the burn of Margaery’s gaze on her face. “He’s  _ not. _ But yes, I miss him.”

“I think you’re hiding something,” Margaery tried. Brienne did her best not to groan. 

“I really have work to do—”

“No, you don’t,” Margaery said. “Not until we get to the bottom of what’s made you so angry all of a sudden.”

“I’m not  _ angry,” _ Brienne said, but even she could tell she sounded kind of mad when she said it. She tried to take a calming breath. “I’m just...adjusting to the new situation. It’s fine.”

“Hmmm,” Margaery said. “I told you that you should’ve told him before he left. Then you’d feel unburdened.” Brienne bit her lip and looked down. Margaery gasped.  _ “Did you tell him?” _

“No!” Brienne said, looking around the empty elevator bank. “This is not an appropriate place for this conversation.”

“Not appropriate? What’s not appropriate about this conversation? It’s not like you—” Margaery stopped, her jaw dropping open. “Did you?” Brienne looked back at her laptop. “Brienne Tarth, you did not!” Brienne shut her computer and faced her friend.

She spoke in a harsh whisper. “It was after his goodbye party, we haven’t talked about it, but it’s not a big deal.”

“You haven’t talked about it?! It’s not a big deal?!”

“Could you  _ lower your voice?” _ Margaery finally got, then, that Brienne wasn’t faking being embarrassed about having this discussion. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just think that’s low and dirty of him to do that and never bring it up again.” Brienne sighed.

“I also didn’t bring it up. He’s busy. I want him to have a productive semester, so he never has to go back to KL, instead of worrying about me up here.” Margaery frowned, and it looked close to pity. Brienne felt nauseous. 

“You’re not a worry, Brienne. You deserve....” Her voice trailed off. “You deserve better than you think you do. That’s all I’ll say. You should talk about this with him before it rots completely.”

Brienne nodded. She knew there was truth in what Margaery said. But that didn’t mean she could bring herself to act on it.

—

A few weeks later, Brienne was skimming through her emails while waiting for the bus home when one caught her eye. It was from her period tracking app. Subject Line: Did you forget us? She opened it.

_ Hi Brienne, _ it began, as if the algorithm that ran a period calendar was her personal friend.  _ We noticed you didn’t enter information about your latest period. If this was an oversight, go back and enter the date of your most recent period. If not, you might want to speak to a doctor about the reasons for your disrupted menstrual cycle. _

She blinked a few times, reading the words again. She hadn’t put in her most recent period? She opened the app as she did math in her head. She’d gotten her period in mid-August; she remembered because Sansa had organized a trip to go swimming at the lake, and she’d had to buy more tampons. And then in September…

Holy shit. Her period was late.

_ But I took plan b, _ she thought as she sat on the bus home. Could the extra surge of hormones have delayed her cycle? She pulled out her phone and googled, “Plan b not work why.”

She was getting ahead of herself, surely. She couldn’t be…

But there it was on Google.  _ The effects of plan b on people over 165 pounds are inconclusive. There’s some evidence that it doesn’t work as well. _ She was a woman over 165 pounds! Why didn’t they put that on the fucking box?!

She got off the bus at the next stop and angrily stomped home. How could this be happening? She was responsible! They’d used condoms — expired condoms, but still condoms! She’d taken the fucking expensive pill! 

Brienne marched into the pharmacy by her house and grabbed a package of three pregnancy tests and a jug of cranberry juice. She grabbed a big bag of sour gummy worms, too; she deserved it. 

Probably she was overreacting, she tried to convince herself as she finished the walk to her apartment.  _ I should just call Jaime and he’ll help me calm down — _

Jaime. Fuck. She could  _ not _ call Jaime. Not until she knew for sure. 

But he was the only person in the world she wanted to talk to right now. Fuck. That’s when she started to cry. 

_ Crying is useless if you don’t know if there’s any reason to do it, _ she told herself. When she got in her apartment, she ripped the box open and quickly read the directions. She took a big gulp of cranberry juice, then went into the bathroom with the first box.

Eight minutes later, she had two positive pregnancy tests. Using the third one seemed like a waste at that point. She laid down on the couch with her cranberry juice jug and let herself cry.

—

In the morning, she started to plan. She had to go to the clinic. She had to tell Jaime. Not in that order. But possibly in that order. 

She called and made an appointment for a consultation that weekend. It felt almost too easy. The nurse had simple questions. Name. Phone Number. Age. How far along do you think you are? 

When she hung up, she almost felt bad. She felt bad for not feeling bad, really. But she couldn’t have a baby now, two years away from her phD. Well, maybe physically she could pull it off, but she didn’t want to. That was the decision, right there. 

But having to call Jaime and tell him? What if he was mad at her?  _ He won’t be mad at you, _ she tried to convince.  _ Jaime will support your choice. _ He  _ would _ . But what if this ruined any chance they had of being together? What if it was just a big thing hanging between them for the rest of their lives, and they could never get past it? Fuck!

Saturday morning, she arrived at the clinic bright and early. The waiting room was almost empty, and they called her quickly. They took a small blood sample to confirm she was pregnant. She was. The doctor was nice, but all business. Brienne told her how far along she was, that she had taken plan b, but obviously it didn’t work. 

“We can write you a birth control prescription, too,” she assured her. Brienne was less certain about that — she’s been on birth control as a teenager, and her doctor at the time was pretty sure it had contributed to some serious depression she experienced at the time. But she never wanted to do this again; the doctor told her there were other options they could discuss in a few weeks.

Apparently Brienne was a good candidate for a medication abortion. They’d give her two pills she could take in the privacy of her own home, and then she’d basically go through one day of what would feel like a very bad period. Then it would be over. Brienne agreed, and the doctor wrote the prescription.

“Just make sure you have a friend or a partner with you, so they can get you the heating pad and snacks and rub your back if it gets too much. And you’ll want to wear sanitary napkins, not tampons.” Brienne nodded. A partner. She had to call Jaime.

For what felt like the millionth time, she thought about how to phrase it on the bus ride home. 

_ “Hey Jaime? Remember when we had sex? When we had sex twice in one night, and then neither of us mentioned it ever again? Funny thing, I got pregnant, and I’m having an abortion. No, you don’t need to come here for it, I’m fine! Just wanted you to know! Everything is normal!” _

Should she text him first to ask what was a good time to call him? He would think something was wrong, if she sent a “We need to talk” text. But something  _ was _ wrong — would that be so bad? 

She dropped off her prescription at the pharmacy and climbed the stairs to her apartment. She kind of wished she’d never reach the top. At the top, she’d have to call Jaime.

As she unlocked the door, she tried not to remember all the times Jaime had stood there with her. She tried not to remember the  _ last _ time he had, when he’d looked like he’d wanted her so badly, and she’d been so happy she barely knew what to do with it. 

She still didn’t regret that night, not really. She just wished things were different. She just wished she knew that things between them would work out in the end.

Once inside her apartment, she hung up her bag and her jacket. She kicked off her shoes and turned on her kettle so she could make a cup of tea. A few moments later, she padded into her bedroom with a cup of chamomile. She changed into her pajamas and, pathetically, pulled Jaime’s sweatshirt on top. She climbed into bed, fluffing her pillow and pulling the blankets around her. After taking a few deep breaths, she called Jaime.

It rang once.  _ What if he doesn’t answer? _ It rang twice.  _ I can’t leave a voicema— _

“Brienne! What’s the matter?” He sounded surprised. 

“Why do you think something’s the matter?” she sniped back. It was ruder than he deserved.

“You just never call me out of the blue,” he said. “But hi. It’s good to hear your voice.” He sounded soft. She took a sip of tea.

“Hi,” she said. “How’s King’s Landing?” She shouldn’t beat around the bush, she knew, but it was so hard not to.

“It’s good, I guess,” he said. “I miss the north. The girls there are much meaner. Walking around in their puffy coats and reminding me I stole their wool hats and—”

“Jaime, I’m pregnant.”

He was silent for a long moment. She wasn’t sure if she was glad or mad she couldn’t see his reaction on his face.

“Oh.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

“How long have you known?” he asked. She winced.

“Since Wednesday?” 

“Oh.” Did he sound disappointed?”

“I just got back from the clinic today, they did one of those fancy tests, I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for sure.” Sort of a lie, but it would make him feel better about not knowing right away. Probably?

“Oh.” She’d ruined Jaime. All his long, loquacious sentences were gone. New Jaime spoke in monosyllables.

“What are you feeling?” she asked. He laughed without humor.

“What are  _ you _ feeling? Brienne, I’m so sorry, I don’t know how —”

“It’s my fault, I think,” she said. “The condoms were probably expired. I took plan b, but apparently there’s a weight limit thing they don’t tell you about.”

“You’d think they’d put that on the box,” Jaime mumbled, regular him peeking through for a second.

“Yeah, well. We’ll write a letter.” Jaime’s laugh was a little more solid this time.

“So you went to the clinic?” he asked. She appreciated the space he was making for her to express herself, even if every word she spoke felt like pulling teeth.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not going to keep it.” She heard Jaime’s exhale.

“That makes sense. How are you feeling?”

“OK.” What else could she say? This would all be so much easier if he were here with her. She wouldn’t have to put her feelings into words. They could just lie on the couch or in bed and feel their feelings together.

“OK,” he repeated. “I’m so sorry I’m not there with you.”

“It’s alright.” She took a breath and kept going. “They prescribed me the pill version. I’m gonna take it on Friday, I don’t have classes, and that way I have all weekend to recover before I have to go back to work.”

“That makes sense,” Jaime said. “What do you need from me?”

“Nothing,” Brienne said. She didn’t have the words for the things she wanted. She didn’t think she had the right to ask for any of them right now. “I mean, it’s a little expensive, if you want to Venmo me…”

“Of course,” he said. “Don’t be silly.” 

“Well, then,” she said. “I guess that’s it.” 

“Yeah,” Jaime said. “OK. Brienne—”

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” she asked quickly, embarrassed to even say it. 

“Never,” he said, so vehemently she had to believe him. “It’s your choice. I could never be mad at you.” 

“Well  _ that’s _ not true,” she tried to joke, hoping to bring them back to where they usually stood. 

“Right, I was mad when you told my undergrads I don’t know anything about properly formatting citations.”

“There you go.” They sat there in silence for a few moments.

Jaime broke it. “Listen, I’m sorry to hang up on you, but I actually have to go interview this MP in like thirty minutes, and—”

“Right, right, of course,” she said, though she wanted to tell him not to go.

“Call me later, though,” he said. “I’ll be done by three, so, any time after that. Even if it’s really late. I miss you, woman, and now all this...”

She agreed, knowing even then she wouldn’t call him back that day. They hung up a few moments later.

Brienne stared at her phone, at the cup of tea on her bedside table. She never felt quite so alone before. 

So she did the brave thing. She picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hey, Margaery? I really need a friend right now.”

—

Margaery and Sansa arrived with their arms full of food and beverages. As soon as Brienne opened the door, she started crying, and soon they were all on the couch, eating and snacking and listening to the whole story. They rubbed circles in her back and didn’t make fun of her for her tears and swore that  _ of course _ they’d be there to support her on Friday. 

By the time they went home that night, Brienne felt a little better. She still wished she felt more sure about the Jaime of it all, but she supposed she really would have to wait until December to figure it out. And, if, like she now suspected, Jaime only wanted her as a friend, she’d find a way to live with that. There was no other choice but this one, and she’d live with the consequences.

The days dragged on. She tried to bury herself in her work all week, but it felt impossible to focus on anything. When she felt anxious, she would google more questions about her abortion — could she drink, could she sleep, could she take a bath? She wished Friday would hurry up and come so she could be over with it already. And it was annoying how many pregnancy side effects she was feeling — she kept getting disgusted by different smells, and she woke up every morning nauseous. Why couldn’t her body tell that she didn’t want any of this, so it should just leave her alone for a few days?

Brienne didn’t set her alarm Thursday night, but she still woke early Friday morning. It was raining. She rolled around, trying to fall back asleep, but ultimately gave up after half an hour. She crawled out of bed and took a long shower. When she was done, she put on her comfiest clothes and Jaime’s stupid sweatshirt. He’d texted her the night before to make sure there was nothing else she needed, which was sweet, but mostly made her miss him more. Despite all the confusion she felt about where they stood with each other, she missed him so much.

She took the first pill with breakfast, and the second one after. Then all she had to do was wait. Margaery was supposed to come over any second now and then they were planning on marathoning one of  _ The Real Housewives _ franchises, Brienne didn’t even really care which one, she just wanted something vaguely mind-numbing. Sansa was supposed to join them later.

Margery knocked on the door, right on time. Brienne walked over, unlocked it, and opened it. 

But Margaery was nowhere to be found. The door knocked was Jaime. 

He looked more terrible than she’d ever thought she’d seen him, outside of the week after his accident, though he was trying hard not to. He was tired, clearly, and his hair was standing every which way. He was also soaked. He had a duffle bag in one hand and a bunch of grocery bags in the other.

“Hi,” he said. 

“Jaime.” She was frozen.

“Is that a good ‘Jaime’ or a bad ‘Jaime?’”

“I don’t know.” He nodded, grimly. “You’re supposed to be in King’s Landing.” He shrugged.

“I didn’t want you to do this alone.” 

“Margaery’s coming — she’s not coming, is she?” Jaime looked sheepish. 

“Unless you really don’t want me here.” 

“Of course I want you here.” _Of course_ _she did._ “I just…” Jaime’s face didn’t change, but she could tell he was as scared as she was. Perversely, it made her feel better. 

She stepped back and let him into the apartment. He shook out his wet hair, reminding her a little bit of a dog. 

“Let me get you a towel,” she said. He must have woken up in the wee hours of the morning to get on an early enough flight to get here on time. And then come in the rain. It was so sweet she was afraid to think about it and have to figure out what it really meant.

She grabbed a towel from the bathroom and returned to the living room. Jaime had hung up his jacket and dropped his duffle bag. He was unpacking the grocery bags on the table — he’d gotten all her favorite snacks and candy and a heating pad and painkillers. He smiled gratefully at her when she handed him the towel. 

“I bought a heating pad and Motrin already,” she said. He toweled off his hair.

“But this one has an extra long cord, so you can sit wherever you want.” She supposed that was smart. “Did you eat breakfast?” he asked. 

“Yeah, did you?” He nodded.

“I got something at the airport.” Made sense. 

“You didn’t have to come,” she said, for want of something else to say. He lowered the towel and looked at her forlornly. 

“If you don’t want me here, really, it’s fine. I know things are — I mean we are — I mean —”

She took the towel from him, silencing him. “I’m glad you’re here,” she admitted finally, both to himself and to her. “Can we just sit on the couch and watch dumb reality TV? And we can have big feelings talks later, or tomorrow. Unless you’re leaving tonight?” God, she hoped he wasn’t.

He shook his head, hard. “My flight is Sunday night. Margaery said I could stay with them, if you don’t want me to to stay here…” Brienne laughed despite herself.

“Let’s not rush things.”

They sat on the couch. Jaime got them extra blankets from where he knew they were in her closet. She picked a show about beautiful women who worked as realtors in Sunspear, showing off expensive and hideous homes. After one episode, Jaime had to plug in the heating pad for her. After two, he got up to get them snacks. She kept having to go to the bathroom to check the pad, to make sure she wasn’t bleeding too much. But everything seemed to be going along fine — she was just achy and sore. 

Jaime made her tea and ordered them pizza. He had lots of funny things to say about the show they watched, and Brienne found herself eventually snuggling into his side. When the cramps got really bad, he rubbed her back and helped her feel at ease. It felt just like old times, but also not. But there was nothing she wanted to talk about less than the status of their relationship right now.

After they demolished the pizza, Brienne started to doze. “Do you want to take a nap?” Jaime asked when he noticed that she was moving in and out of consciousness. She nodded, and he helped her carefully to her bed. She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to be so cautious with her — she was hardy, she didn’t need his gentleness — but Brienne found she liked the feeling of being cared for, as strange as it was.

She climbed into bed, and Jaime piled blankets on top of her. “You OK?” he checked. She nodded. She took off her glasses and placed them, ungracefully, on her bedside table. Jaime looked down at her for a second.

“Sorry I stole your sweatshirt,” she said. He chuckled.

“It’s yours now.”

— 

When Brienne woke, she was groggy and warm. She never napped well, and it took a few moments to get her bearings again. She put her glasses back on and checked her phone — it was late afternoon. She had a bunch of texts from Margaery, both worried about how she was and worried Brienne was pissed at her for not warning her about Jaime’s arrival.

“It’s all good,” she typed back quickly. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

She went to the bathroom then. It seemed the bleeding had slowed down, thankfully. She washed her glasses and her face, brushed her teeth, and slipped her hair back into a less messy ponytail. She told herself it wasn’t for Jaime’s sake — he’d already seen her gross and tired many times before — but she knew that wasn’t the full truth.

When she walked into the living room, Jaime was on the couch, working on his laptop. He looked up at her right away.

“You’re up,” he said with surprise. “I just checked on you a couple minutes ago.” Despite everything, Brienne felt herself blush.

“Thanks,” she said before walking over to the kitchen to see what snacks they had left. 

She grabbed a bag of gummy worms and joined Jaime on the couch. He had closed his laptop and placed it on the coffee table

“How do you feel?” he asked. She shrugged.

“OK I guess.” She rested her back against the armrest and swung her legs on to the couch cushions. She’d taken off her socks in her sleep, and now her feet were cold. She tried to snuggle them into the cushions, but Jaime’s thigh was in the way. He watched her rub her feet together, then looked up at her. 

“Do you want me to get you socks?” he asked. 

“It’s fine.”

“But if you’re cold—”

“It’s fine.”

“But really—” He started to get up.

“I missed you so much,” she said. Jaime dropped back on to the couch. He looked her right in the eyes, something in his gaze she couldn’t decipher. 

“I missed you, too,” he said. He took his head in his hands. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen like this.” She laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah, it’s all a bit of a shitshow.” 

“We don’t have to talk about feelings if you don’t want to. We could wait for tomorrow.” He was just repeating what she had told him hours ago, but it still stung to hear. But the surety of his voice didn’t match his body language, which told her he had no fucking clue what he was doing either. She put her feet in his lap. He picked up a blanket and threw it over them. 

He was just Jaime. Jaime, who she’d fought with like an animal for a whole year. Jaime, who’d shoved her out of the way of a car that could’ve killed her. Jaime, who she’d forced into the bath, and driven to therapy, brought soup to when he had a fever. Jaime, who had been her best friend, and who could probably never be that again. Jaime, who might be something more.

As she began to talk, she started to cry. “I’m scared, Jaime.” She choked on the last word. God, this was embarrassing. Jaime handed her a tissue from the box on the table, then left his hand on her knee. “I don’t regret that we slept together. I know I’m crying right now, so maybe you don’t believe me, but I don’t. And I don’t regret choosing to terminate this pregnancy.” This next part was the hardest to get out. “The only thing I’ll regret is if all this stuff means we never have a chance to...to…” She took a big breath. “To see what we could be together.” She wiped her eyes again on Jaime’s sweatshirt sleeves. He took her free hand in his. 

“You’re not the only one who’s worried about fucking this up.” His voice was quiet and hoarse, and he wasn’t looking her in the eye. She rubbed her thumb up and down the side of his hand. “I’m glad we spent the night together. And I’m glad you’re happy that you chose this. I’m sorry we didn’t talk about that night until now, though.”

“I should have brought it up,” Brienne said. Jaime shrugged.

“Or I should have. One of us had to be the brave one.” He looked her up and down then. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms, and she wanted to run away. She did neither; she didn’t even wipe the tears still falling down her face. He licked his lip, then said, “I love you. I’m in love with you. Those are my cards and they’re on the table. I’m sorry they’re late.”

Brienne hiccuped as her tears kept falling. “I thought you said something like that when we slept together, but then I wasn’t sure if I made it up or misremembered.” Jaime frowned so hard at that, she wanted to soothe his brow. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I should say it every day. I’m nothing short of crazy about you. Obsessed. I made one friend in KL and I think I’ve told him everything about you.” Brienne laughed, more real this time. 

“Poor guy. No one talks more than you.” Jaime finally smiled at that. “I’m in love with you, too.” She’d anguished over those words so long, it was strange how easily they came out. Jaime’s face split open as he grinned, bright and warm. 

“Really?”

“Really. I’d crawl over there and kiss you, but my uterus still feels weird and I don’t want to move.” 

Jaime took that as a challenge. After some awkward finagling, Jaime slid down the couch until he could lift Brienne into his lap, her legs still extended on the cushions.

“Is this OK?” he asked, helping her gently settle herself on top of him. She nodded. 

“It’s perfect.” She rested her forehead against his.

“OK,” he said. 

“OK,” she repeated. He was so handsome up close. She could see the stubble on his jaw, the sharp slopes of his cheeks, the little bump in his nose. His hands rested carefully on her waist, like he was afraid he would hurt her accidentally, but she knew he wouldn’t.

She tilted her lips just a little bit down until they met his. He gasped against her mouth, like he hadn’t really expected her to do that, after everything. It was soft and gentle, a tender glide of their mouths against each other. She braced herself on his chest, and he kept holding on to her. 

Their first kiss had felt surreal, magical, almost unbelievable for how flawless it was.

But this kiss was believable. It was messy and real and all the more perfect for it. It was a prelude, not to sex, but to their whole lives.

Brienne pulled away and buried her head in Jaime’s shoulder. “We’re going to be OK?” she asked, eyes closed. She felt Jaime’s head nod, the muscles in his neck shifting. 

“Better than OK.”

—

Brienne wasn’t that hungry, but Jaime insisted on ordering them more food from the diner for dinner. She ended up eating her chicken noodle soup and half of Jaime’s fries, so she was grateful he’d forced the issue. They stayed on the couch, ostensibly watching action movies, but really talking about all the things they’d missed in each other’s lives over the past month. Jaime told her about the politicians and historians he had managed to link up with in KL. She told him about all the dumb paper topics her students had come to her with and how the professor she was working for had no idea how to help them make them better. Jaime told her about his crappy landlord and she told him about how Margaery wanted her to go ring shopping for Sansa with her next weekend. 

Eventually Brienne found herself dozing again, and Jaime helped her to her feet and into her bedroom. She visited the bathroom, then changed into her pajamas — a pair of boxers and an old Tarth Pirates tee shirt of her dad’s. She opened the door to her bedroom and looked at Jaime, who had changed into his own tee shirt and boxers. He was moving the pillows on the couch, trying to make a comfy nest.

“Jaime.” He looked up at her, all hope and open affection. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He dropped the pillow and padded over to her bedroom door. 

“Hit the light switch,” she reminded him. He dutifully obliged and followed her into her room, into her bed. He was careful at first, keeping to his side. Brienne appreciated the space, but she didn’t want it.

“Come here,” she whispered in the darkness of her room. They rolled into the middle, and it took them a few moments to find a comfortable positioning of their long limbs. 

“Good night, Brienne.” He pressed his lips against the crown of her head.

“Good night, Jaime.” 

—

Brienne was the type of person who went to the airport a lot. Not because she was a world traveler, but because she was the steady, certain type of person people could depend on to pick them up or drop them off at the airport. She was always on time, and even if they threw some gas money at her, it was always less than a cab would have cost them.

Usually she didn’t bother to get out of her car and would wait for them to appear outside the terminal, searching for Brienne’s blue and slightly dented hatchback. 

But today was special. She parked in the garage, fully willing to pay the $9 fee. She got her sign out of the back seat, and headed over to the terminal, hurrying to get out of the December cold. She planted herself at the bottom of the escalator, watching the slow stream of people who were arriving in Winterfell. Most of them stopped in the lobby to put on heavy duty outerwear before heading outside. Brienne didn’t blame them. She wished there was a coffee shop in this part of the airport, so she could warm herself up with a cup of tea.

Instead she held up her sign and waited. She checked the arrivals board — he should be there any minute. And what was a few minutes compared to the three months they’d been apart? That Saturday morning, over a very good late brunch at their favorite cafe, they decided to, as Brienne has so eloquently put it, “do that long distance boyfriend-girlfriend thing.” 

And so they had texted all the time, and FaceTimed, and called. The first time they had phone sex it was a minor disaster; by November, they’d gotten very good at it.

But now Jaime was on his way home, back to her. She felt like she could exhale.

The stream of people on the escalator picked up, and Brienne knew he had to be close. There was a big family with tons of suitcases and then — there was Jaime.

He was wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants — her sweatpants, she was pretty sure — and had an enormous suitcase of his own. She wasn’t sure he even had a winter coat in KL. 

His face lit up when he saw her and her big piece of posterboard with “Jaime” written in gold glitter, thanks to Sansa’s arts and craft expertise. She could tell he wanted to rush down the escalator, but thankfully he noticed the many people in front of him first. It would have been difficult to weave his way through without his luggage; with it, it was impossible. He shrugged at her, and she smiled wider. What dorks they were. 

The family finally got off the escalator, and Jaime, in a fit of what he would later describe as “romantic grandeur,” hurried down the last steps and dropped his luggage to the side. He ran toward Brienne’s arms at full tilt. She dropped the sign and caught him, lifting him into the air as their lips met. He laughed against her mouth as she spun him around, before helping him find the ground again. 

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless.

“You should go get your luggage before airport security thinks you’re a terrorist.” Jaime laughed but did as she said, fetching his suitcase and then walking back to her. 

“I like your sign,” he said. He took her free hand. 

“There’s glitter all over my carpet, but it was worth it.” It was — being with Jaime was worth everything. 

Tonight they would go back to Brienne’s apartment. This week they’d celebrate the Long Night with their friends and the Starks. Next week, they were going to Tarth, to spend the New Year with Brienne’s dad. 

And after that? They had time to figure it out together.

**Author's Note:**

> It is true that they don't know if plan b works on people who weight over 165 pounds, please be careful!!
> 
> Margaery studying Westeros Studies is supposed to be like American Studies, which I almost majored in during undergrad, but did not.


End file.
